


Makes Me Sick

by SpringZephyr



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Attempted Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gender-neutral Reader, I tried my best okay, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Reader Insert, there's definitely hurt and the comfort was attempted, they stop because Mammon is clearly not in the right mindset for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpringZephyr/pseuds/SpringZephyr
Summary: Mammon probably doesn't want to talk about what just happened, but maybe he needs to.xBased off "the Escorts" Devilgram. MC/Reader helps Mammon come to terms with what happened.
Relationships: Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 97





	Makes Me Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody warned me about the Escorts before I got that card, and I can't unsee my first impression even after reading the follow up post by the developers, SO. I don't have much else to say about this one? Don't read it if you don't think you can handle this type of content, or if you're one of those people who doesn't believe men can be victims.
> 
> I'm going to be adding to the tags later. If anyone thinks of tags I'm missing/thinks I should change the content warning or rating, let me know?

Dinner. Movie. Bedroom. As far as dates go, it's pretty typical. Definitely cliché. If you were being graded on creativity, well – you wouldn't even be passing.

The food was good, and Mammon picked a movie with no less than three car chases and thirty explosions, which was about what you'd expected. You held Mammon's hand on the walk to his car, the walk back to his room, and for someone so loud and boisterous under any other circumstances, he became so shy and quiet after the bedroom door clicked shut behind you.

Inexperience has nothing to do with it -- he's told you before that he's _had_ relationships, but none of them were ever like this. He hadn't specified what "like this" meant, but you think about it sometimes. You're thinking about it now, as you tell Mammon to take his shirt off, and he folds his sunglasses and sets them carefully on his nightstand before starting to put on a nervous little show. The way he tugs off his jacket before rolling up the hem of his shirt, instead of yanking it off, like you'd expect him to, is _adorable_.

"Good boy," you tell him. “You're so pretty.”

That earns you a second of hesitation that leads you to thinking – okay, maybe that wasn't doing it for him. You'd talked about plenty of things beforehand, but that doesn’t mean he’s not embarrassed. Or maybe “pretty” just isn’t doing it for him.

That doesn't stop you from thinking it, that Mammon _is_ pretty, but you’re definitely going to wait before you try that one again.

“Thanks,” he mutters. It sounds dry. And a little out of place, considering the circumstances.

"Is something wrong?"

"Naw, don't worry about it… just nerves. Means more coming from you, is all."

“ You gonna lie down for me?” you ask.

You’re not entirely convinced, and already making plans to take it slower tonight. It does strike you as odd that a demon with thousands of years’ worth of experience would be nervous, but you’re not going to question it. Mammon is prone to exaggerating, but he has enough insecurities already – he doesn’t need you calling him out on it.

But when your thumbs dip under his waistband and he recoils, you start to think that might not be the only problem. Faster than you can register what's happening, Mammon flinches away, almost smacking his head against the headboard of his bed. There is a moment, afterwards, where you don't move even to breath, your hands still hovering in the same place Mammon's hip bones used to be.

Once that moment passes, your hands are on the bed. You don't attempt to reach out to him. His eyes are open so wide that you can see more whites than color.

That didn’t look like “just nerves” to you.

Mammon makes a show of being annoyed after he’s taken a deep breath. “Why'd ya stop?”

His lip is curled too far back, and you can see too many teeth for Mammon to convince you he's just pouting. You also know Mammon better than anyone else, more intimately, and too well to have not familiarized yourself with the way his shoulders hunch when he's nervous, or the way his eyes shift when he's lying.

The thing is, he's acting too deliberately like he didn't want you to stop for it to be convincing.

You plant a kiss on the tip of his nose, then collect his glasses from his bedside nightstand and roll off the bed to begin recollecting pieces of clothing. That's as far as you're going to go for tonight.

“ Because it doesn't seem like you're into it.”

“Seriously – ”

He sounds so offended that you give him another once over, just in case.

Mammon has moved to a sitting position, resting his weight on the palms of his hands, legs parted. All of the warmth has left his face. He doesn't look like he's having a good time, he looks like he's about to be subjected to a horror movie marathon with his brothers.

You hand him his jacket next, ignoring his outburst.

“ Want to talk about it?” you ask, once both of your clothes are back in place, and you've brushed some of the floor lint off your shirt.

The rustle of fabric hadn't been nearly enough to disguise the lack of noise. Mammon is sitting in a familiar position, with his back pressed against your chest, his weight resting on your legs, and your arms around him, and has been uncharacteristically silent since you've returned his jacket.

He turns his head to the side, fluffy hair tickling your chin, and you observe the way his shoulder blades dig into your chest as he squirms. These are the types of movements that Mammon, for some reason, never seems to be conscious of. So he probably doesn't want to talk about what just happened, but maybe he _needs_ to.

“Mammon?”

“ Even if I told you,” Mammon squirms again, sliding down until his head is closer to your lap than your chest, and your arms are draped loosely around his shoulders. Suspecting this might not be the right time, you don't make a move to hold him tightly again, “ya wouldn't understand.”

“ We don't need to have sex,” you say, hoping he'll relax.

If that was the only problem, it would be an easy fix. You're more than prepared to tell him you don't need sex to be in a relationship with him – you love Mammon, and he's more than a body to you. 

Your words have the opposite effect, and you watch the tips of Mammon's ears turn red. “I'm not going to judge you for wanting a sexless relationship,” you try again, dragging your fingers through his hair, the way he likes it. With your fingernails teasing his scalp. “I won't be any happier forcing you into something you don't want.”

“I do wanna, but... not right now. Can't we have this talk some other time?”

Technically, the two of you have already had “the talk”. It ended with you thinking he was going to be okay with this, which he clearly wasn't.

“I just want to make sure you're all right – ”

“ _ Stop. _ ”

You stop. It's almost as if the one with the Pact and all the power isn't you, in that moment.

Shit.

Hurting him was never the goal, here.

“ Mammon, treasure. Please?” Your hand stays in his hair, but only because you're not sure what to do with it anymore. The other one is resting on his shoulder, and you have to force yourself not to reflexively curl your fingers into the fabric of his jacket, regardless of how badly you want something to ground yourself on. “Tell me what's wrong? I only want to help you.”

“ I can't – ”

“ Yes, you can.”

There's a pause.

The desperation in your voice must have finally gotten through to him, because shakily, Mammon says, “I can't help it. My hands started shakin', and I forget how to breathe…"

Suddenly, it dawns on you that you might have gotten the wrong impression. And you feel even worse about it now.

His voice is thin; the little breath he takes in at the end is nearly louder than his words are. Then he shudders, an action that lasts only for a fraction of a second, but affects his entire body. Pressed as close as he is to you, you, of course, feel it as well. Even if you were capable of looking him in the eyes right now, you don't think he'd be looking at you.

Through you, is more likely.

It's hard to locate words that describe Mammon in his current state, but you can very adequately describe the effect it has on you – it's chilling.

“I'm only going to tell ya this 'cause it's you, all right? And if ya laugh at me, I'm going ta... steal every pair of socks that you own. Or something.”

Your heart stops in your chest. Thoughts vacate your brain.

“That is the least threatening threat I have ever heard,” you reply, attempting to joke back.

“Well, it would be awful. You'd have to wear shoes without socks until ya bought more.” Mammon wriggles in place again, like he's trying to get comfortable. "So… did I ever tell ya about them witches? I owe 'em a lot of money, and -- "

You're not sure you follow, but you allow Mammon to speak uninterrupted. Fragmented, incohesive, incomplete sentences continue falling from his mouth, and you actually knew very little about the witches prior to this, but a very vivid picture is starting to take shape in your mind. They’re horrible. Selfish. They hurt people indiscriminately, and Maddi, the Great Witch who’d been the first to make a pact with Mammon, was the worst of them.

She'd visited the Devildom, taken an interest in Mammon. Invited him back to the human world for some gambling, a little bit of human world alcohol. Apparently, he hadn't been paying attention to how much he'd been drinking – could've sworn it was only a couple of shots, but it must have been more.

But she was nice. A flatterer. Listened to him talk about his brothers, and said he didn't deserve the mistreatment he received. Maddi had been very straightforward about what she'd wanted, and Mammon had said no.

“Aside from the last part, it was pretty awesome though.”

Mammon might talk about it like it was only a bad experience, but you know better. “Which part did you enjoy?” you ask him.

“Gamblin', obviously. And feelin' like there was someone who understood me. Yeah, I am a bit of a scumbag, but I don't deserve _all_ the disrespect I get? You know?” You wait patiently as he rambles for a bit. “It's not like I'm tryna cause trouble, and nobody gets mad at Beel when he loses control over _his_ sin." 

“What about the rest?”

"I coulda stopped them," Mammon says.

Words come back to you very quickly at that. "Mammon, it wasn't your fault."

"The stuff at the end might notta been, but there were other things – I'm a demon – "

"That doesn't matter. You were the victim. That's  _ victim blaming _ logic."

You repeat what you just said, and Mammon tilts his head back, straining to see you out of the corner of his vision. "I didn't have to make a pact with anyone," he adds, “it’s not like Maddi forced me to go to the human realm with her, and she definitely could've. I also coulda stayed home that night, and we’d be having sex instead of having this conversation.”

The room goes silent again, and the weight of Mammon's body leaning on yours is the heaviest it's ever been. When you touched him earlier, he’d been thinking about the witches’ hands instead of yours. Maybe Maddi had also called him pretty once, or maybe it had been one of her friends that Mammon kept implying the existence of.

"I don't blame ya for making _your_ pact," he says finally. "You're just a human, surrounded by big, scary demons, and at the time I was kinda an asshole to ya. In case you were wonderin’."

"But I would never use the pact to hurt you," you reply. You don't like the mental comparisons being drawn between you and _them_ right now. "And I still shouldn’t have done it. Not the way I did it."

"Aw, c’mon. Now you're doin' the same thing you told me not to do!"

"What?"

"The victim blaming thing!"

If you could go back in time, would you have chosen to make your pact with Mammon in the same way? Knowing what you do now, the answer is "no". Maybe you hadn't intended to bring the brothers back together at the start, but you'd spent enough time with them now to realize they had good hearts and didn't deserve to be manipulated.

"You didn't choose whatever happened with the witches,” you wish you had the magic words that would convince him. Instead, you end up repeating things you’ve already said, “but you did choose to stay with me."

Mammon's bed is large enough to forgive him, by not letting him fall off its edge, when he rolls off your lap to put some distance between you. There is an uncomfortable pause as Mammon finally starts to consider what you’re saying. "They raped me. I'm supposed ta be the second strongest demon in hell, and… they…” 

Awkward laughter fills the air from Mammon's side of the bed as you clench your teeth, livid. Mammon continues talking, avoiding complete sentences, still laughing as if he doesn't believe you'll take him seriously either – 

“ Mammon?” you poke his shoulder.

The room becomes noiseless again. He doesn't respond, but you know he's listening.

“ It’s going to be okay.”


End file.
